


See What's Become of Me

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drabble, First Time, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-31
Updated: 2003-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Time passes.





	See What's Become of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
See What's Become of Me

## See What's Become of Me

by Doll

Disclaimer: 

Author's Notes: This is my response to the livejournal ds_flashfiction Hourglass Challenge, which was: "Write a Due South flashfiction that has two scenes which are at least five years apart."

Story Notes: 

* * *

When Stanley Raymond Kowalski was eight years old, his most favorite drink in the world was cherry Kool-Aid. Not because of the high sugar content, or even how it would dye his mouth red for weeks. No, he liked it best because his mother only made it for special occasions. Birthdays, Easter, Christmas. . .there was always a pitcher of Kool-Aid. 

The very best times were when his mother would pour it into the big thermos. That meant they were going to the beach, and there'd be hot dogs and Frisbees, and touch football, and everyone would be smiling and laughing, and no-one would say "For God's sake, stop fidgeting, Stanley!" or "Can't you just be still?" 

Cherry Kool-Aid was the best. 

* * *

When Benton Fraser was eight years old, his favorite drink in the whole wide world was water made from melted snow. Not that it was that much different from the regular water he habitually drank, and not even that it was a change from milk, the only other beverage his grandmother would allow him. He liked it best of all because that meant he was camping with his father. 

"You've got to be tough, son," his father would say, and they wouldn't take any supplies with them. They had to melt snow, and eat lichen, and wrestle their very survival from the wilderness. And certainly, lichen wasn't all that tasty, but his father was _with_ him, and he was right _there_ , and that had to count for something, right? 

Melted snow really wasn't that bad. 

* * *

When Ray Kowalski was 17, he drank a lot of beer. He'd swagger into the liquor store, flash some attitude, and walk out with a 24-pack of Old Style. He'd shove some in his backpack, go pick up Stella, and roar off into the night on his motorcycle. 

They'd go behind the school bleachers and drink, and Stella would giggle, pull him close, and give him long, wet, beer-flavored kisses. They would rub up against each other, and have drunken, half-clothed sex, and know that they were forever. 

Ray had Stella and beer; he was a god. 

* * *

When Benton Fraser was 17, he drank a lot of orange juice. There were so many people at the Depot, more than he was used to being around, so he was certain the extra vitamin C would not be amiss. 

His first months there, the other cadets would invite him to their weekend parties, and he'd go, but he wouldn't drink with them. The invitations slowed down, and after the. . .unfortunate incident involving the boomerang and the gasoline, they stopped altogether. He just was not the kind of person you could hang around with. 

Benton had orange juice and a reputation; he was a legend. 

* * *

When Ray got divorced, he drank almost nothing but scotch. It's not that he liked it, particularly, but everything in his new, empty apartment reminded him of the gaping Stella-shaped hole in his life. Everything. 

The toothpaste was her brand, the soap smelled like her, the carpet was her favorite color, and the CDs! Every one of them had a memory attached, a memory of a time when Stella loved him. He was overwhelmed; he had to block off the memories or die from pain. 

Scotch worked really well. 

* * *

When Fraser started working in Chicago, he drank almost nothing but tea. It's not that he liked it, particularly, but he did like the process of it. Chicago was so. . .foreign. It wasn't a bad place, per se, but every day he was reminded of how much he didn't belong. 

He had a wolf, he was too polite, his assigned tasks were demeaning, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. But with tea, if you followed the steps, did each to the best of your ability -boil the water, so! Steep, thus!- you'd have a perfect cup of tea. The types of people you'd sent to jail didn't matter. 

Tea gave him control. 

* * *

When Ray went undercover as Vecchio, he went back to drinking beer. He was going to be partnered with a Mountie, for chrissake! He didn't want to be so numb and out of it that he caused an international incident. Besides, he'd seen pictures - that Fraser looked like kind of a tight-ass. 

So: coffee during the day to keep up with the Mountie, beer at night to keep the Stella-thoughts away. He could do that. He'd have to do that. 

The beer would be enough. 

* * *

When Ray Vecchio went undercover, Fraser kept drinking tea. His first days back from vacation were something of a blur, but once he settled in and got a good look at the new Ray, Fraser could see that his partner was wound up tighter than a spring. 

He was a very good police officer, Fraser could tell that easily. But he also seemed somewhat obsessive in nature. It would probably be best to keep all temptation out of his way. 

The tea would be an example. 

* * *

When Ray went looking for the Hand of Franklin with Fraser, he drank whatever the hell Fraser gave him. What did he know about surviving in the Arctic? He looked to Fraser, listened to Fraser, learned from Fraser, and slowly, surely, fell in love with Fraser. 

When Ray realized that, he choked on his tea for 20 minutes, and tried to subtly edge away from Fraser's hand on his back. 

Now what the hell was he supposed to do? 

* * *

When Fraser went looking for the Hand of Franklin with Ray, he didn't remember drinking anything at all. Or eating, or speaking, or even breathing, for that matter. All he saw was Ray. Ray, his best friend; Ray, who believed in him; Ray, who chose to stay with him when everyone else left. Ray whom he loved. 

When Fraser realized that, he buried his face in the fur at Dief's neck and sighed. 

Now what the hell was he supposed to do? 

* * *

When Ben and Ray moved to Yellowknife, they drank whatever they wanted. Tea, when they came in from shoveling the drive, and their faces were flush with cold. Beer, when they were curled up together on the sofa, watching the Blackhawks lose yet _again_. Scotch, before going to the funeral of Fraser's newest constable, lost in the line of duty. Champagne, at the ceremony where they bound their lives together. 

They drank whatever they wanted. 

* * *

End See What's Become of Me by Doll:

Author and story notes above.


End file.
